Last year this time there was a heatwave on Cyprus – we huffed and puffed every time we walked to the beach and back, at night because it was too warm to sleep and were lethargic about going anywhere. Last night I was on the verge of being chilly and kept the sheet and thin blanket pulled up to my chin. Nevertheless, we’ve all managed a sunburn so today we must pile up in cars and go to Nicosia before it becomes too hot there: it’s definitely hotting up. It’ll be 30 degrees and going up to somewhere around 37 in the course of the week.
It’s been good for reading so far, as well swimming and enjoying the food and wine. A meze in one of the newer restaurants down at the bay proved to be a good choice, the various fish dishes cooked to perfection, all washed down with the local white and plenty of water.
I had started reading Peter Robinson’s Bad Boy in hard copy version before we got on the plane and finished reading it the first day. DCI Banks’s worry about daughter having taken off with a ‘bad boy’ proved gripping enough to want to carry on reading, it’s quite well written and I like Robinson’s style, he catches the north of England and its moods pretty well. Fortunately his daughter as well as his side kick Annie both survive the nastiness of pretty boy, so providing scope for a next book in the series.
Then I went off with Arnaldur Indridason and his Inspector Erlendur, who is a gloomy Scandinavian, also divorced, his daughter a heroin addict, a son he never sees. Voices is about the a father is too keen on his son becoming a child star. Gundlaugur, the doorman of a large tourist hotel in Reykjavik is found murdered with the pants of his father Christmas suit down his ankles, a condom hanging down and knife wounds in his chest. Gabriel, the choirmaster surmises:
May be we see this most clearly with religion….Children who find themselves in certain religions are made to adopt their parents’ faith and in effect live their parents’ lives much more than their own. They never have the opportunity to be free, to step outside the world they’re born into, to make independent decisions about their lives. Of course, the children don’t realise until much later, and some never do. But after when they are adolescents or grown up they say “I don’t want this anymore“.’
Another very good read, definitely appropriate holiday fare; Nicolas Wroe in 200 wrote a review in Guardian of an interview with Indridason about his Erlendur series of books.